The Trenton Campaign v 20
by 8belles
Summary: This is a "what happened" after the flashback at the beginning of Ep 10 between Miles and Monroe. I wanted to get the dialog straight from the show and correct some character names/ranks. Thanks for the compliments. Mild battle violence, medical language.
1. Chapter 1

The Trenton Campaign

Booms echoed off the remains of the buildings around them as shrapnel and brick flew past Bass's head. The smell of gunpowder and burning tires stung his nose and irritated his eyes, but he dare not stop his advance. He dodged left, feinted right and aimed precisely at the chest of his enemy. The semiautomatic pistol dispatched the soldier in a spray of blood and a surprised cry.

Leaping deftly behind a large pile of rubble he found his best friend, brother in arms and the only family he had left: Miles. An explosion punctuated his arrival and a cloud of dust settled over them. Miles, his back to the melee, turned as best he could to fire over his shoulder at the enemy but his clip was empty. A dissatisfied look at his empty pistol made him turn around to his friend as he tried to conceal the blood covering his left hand from the wound under his shirt.

"I'm out!", Bass said with exuberance, a wild fire in his bright blue eyes. Miles reached into his pants pocket and pulled out a clip, handing it to Bass. Bass gladly inserted it into his pistol. " Did you hear we're running out of bullets?"

"What?", Miles looked at him wearily, keenly aware the blood leaking its way out of his body into the dust covered ground under him. He felt the hard rip rap he was laying on poking him uncomfortably in the back, which he found mildly irritating.

" Yeah, Kippling told me. Been shooting so many rounds over so many years, all these bandits and militias, we're going to have to ration.", he crowed, the excitement of battle in his voice. We'll have to start using swords! We'll be like like pirates!", Bass laughed his carefree laugh as he imagined a swashbuckling future of Pirates of the Caribbean. Even Miles had to laugh in spite of his grave condition as another explosion rocked the ground near them. The shudder of the blast wave shook both of them to duck further under the cover of the rubble. Smoke and sulphur infiltrated their lungs making them cough. Miles felt more blood soaking his shirt and he grimaced in pain.

Monroe looked up from the blast as his friends' wave of pain crossed his face. Suddenly the mirth was gone. He probed with his laser gaze to see Miles lift his hand, sticky and red. Miles sucked in a ragged breath, " Bass, you got to go."

" Forget it.", Bass was deadly serious.

" Look at me man. ", Miles reasoned, his voice wavering, " Somebody needs to lead the men."

" I don't care about the men.", Monroe replied as his mind whirled a thousand miles an hour about how he was going to save his friend's life.

" Don't argue with me.", Miles replied, his voice becoming a whisper, his eyes beginning to close.

Bass fixed Miles with a steely gaze and his voice took a hard edge, " All the years. All the times I was in trouble, you stood by me. You never ran. If you are dying, I'm dying with you."

Miles could not find the words or strength to reply so he kept his eyes locked on the only other man who knew him better than himself.

Monroe looked wildly around him for options. He saw burned out hulks of vehicles and men scattering through the battlefield. This was guerrilla warfare for sure and there was no exact order to the chaos. Finally, he saw across an opening, a group of his troops. Putting his fingers to his lips he blasted a short whistle. The men across the breach looked in his direction as they hid behind a defunct garbage truck. Machine gun fire rattled between them and small ordinance punctuated with blasts. A cloud of smoke wafted through the air obscuring the soldiers from Bass's view. He heard a scream or two with reports of gunfire. Squinting he thought he saw shapes and raised his pistol to fire when three men hopped into the pit with him. Monroe barely held his fire before he saw the characteristic "M" logo on their arms, the design he and Miles contrived as boys for their club. Some club this has become, Monroe thought bitterly, looking at his life long friend. Miles lay very still, almost not breathing and for a moment Monroe's heart caught in his throat; was he dead? Tears began to prickle his eyes as he turned away from his soldiers who were dumbstruck that one of their top commanders lay dying. Monroe felt at Miles' throat for a pulse and there was one, but just barely.

Bass whipped around, eyes cold and calculating, " I need to get General Matheson to the medic." The men watched him uncertainly, shifting their bodies uneasily in their concealed area. They knew what they were up against and their outcome was not looking good. " I will carry him back behind lines and you will cover me. Do you understand?", his tone left no room for saying no. All three men nodded in agreement, half terrified of the prospect of defying their leader and the fight that faced them out there.

Bass leaned down, temporarily sheathing his pistol with Mile's bullets in it, and pulled Miles semi-upright. A small hiss of pain escaped Miles' lips but he offered no resistance. Monroe saw as he lifted Miles the large puddle of blood beneath him and his courage faltered slightly. How could he ever live without Miles, the doubting voice spoke in his head, how can you possibly survive? You will be all alone. What felt like a hour passed in his mind, he shook himself and hoisted his best friend over his shoulder and back. Hooking an arm behind Miles knee in front, and gripping his arm tightly, he kept low, " Go!", the men stood up guns at the ready. The roar of gunfire opened almost instantly their heads rose from their position. Monroe stumbled left, tripped right as the load of Miles' limp body weighed him down. He felt the hot air of bombs going off around him but it was as if in slow motion. Bullets whistled as if passing through thick air so that Monroe felt he could read the caliber from their shells as they went by. The sounds and smells of combat threatened to overwhelm him as his breath came in ragged gasps under the guilty burden he held if Miles died.

Finally, the sounds quieted some. His vision cleared and he saw more friendly faces and the M flag flying over their stronghold. Other men's voices shouted his name and Miles' name with the call for the doctor. Hands swarmed Bass and lifted Miles as if they were angels taking him to Heaven.

" Clear the way!", a Sargent called out moving curious camp support personnel away . The group of men carried Matheson towards a white tent, the typical red cross painted on its roof; a universal signal of help to all no matter if there was electricity or not. There they laid him almost reverently onto a field table and stood back. One man removed his hat as if Miles was dead and paying him respects. Bass moved in like a demon from Hell, a new crazy look in his eyes. The soldiers took one look and left hastily. The nurses swept in, ignoring their unhinged leader's expression. Removing weapons, clothes, cleaning, wiping, sanitizing and preparing the tools for the surgeon, they moved almost silently. They knew if they let Miles die it was possible they were next. It was always hard to tell with General Monroe.

The surgeons entered, prepared as well as they could afford to be now five years without electricity. Dr. Howard was an ER doctor by training but he never imagined having to practice medicine like a Civil War field doctor. He learned quickly some mistakes never to make and when to let go given the situation. But he dare not let go on his patient as he took notice of General Monroe's expression of grief.

" Opening.", Dr. Howard stated as he was took up a scalpel and his contrived suction pump, which was being manned by a young field assistant. A few stood in the ready when the first person's arms became tired from operating the altered bike pump.

It was obvious that Miles was living on borrowed time because he had almost bled out from his wound. A fairly large caliber bullet had a party in Miles gut, tearing, shredding muscle, intestine and nicked his kidney on the way out. Howard was at marginally pleased that the bullet seemed to miss most of the larger arteries and veins but Miles had stayed out in the field of battle too long and he wasn't sure if there was enough blood to go around. " What blood type is General Matheson?", he asked neutrally over his shoulder while he stitched and sewed like a madman.

Bass, who was transfixed by his best friends red, mutilated organs, didn't answer right away till he heard his name, " General Monroe!?", Howard barked at his commanding officer.

" O positive. Same as myself.", Monroe answered coolly, not wanting to betray the dryness in his throat because his heart was pounding in his chest in fear he would bury the last of his family that day.

" Hop on the table General Monroe.", Howard ordered his commander," Time to save a life."

Bass did as he was told, rolling up his sleeves and laying down parallel to Miles, who looked so pale to his azure eyes. A pinch with one of the few needles left to the Monroe Militia and soon a scarlet river flowed into Miles arm. Bass had never donated blood before and was intrigued by the slight buzz he felt in his brain and a warm sensation in his middle.

" Suction!", Howard called as he sewed even faster. The new influx of blood had raised Miles' blood pressure and new leaks were sprouting crimson fountains. A chilling thought occurred to the doctor; now they were connected, what if they bled out together?

As if summoned by that near traitorous thought, Sargent Neville and Captain Baker stepped into the tent breathing heavily as if they had just run in from hearing the news. " How are they?", Neville said with concern.

" Neville." Monroe said his voice drowsy from the transfusion, " We are not well."

Neville looked down on his commanding officer and reached out a hand to Monroe. Monroe took it and found it odd that Neville's grip was so strong. " I will make sure nothing bad happens, Sir.", his voice was so reassuring that Monroe felt at ease and turned his eyes to Miles. Miles had pinked up a little, but not much. Monroe felt so tired. The adrenaline of war was wearing off and his eyes slipped lower and lower till he closed them and his voice in his head said, " If you're dying, so am I".

Baker looked at Neville and when he decide that when Monroe was unconscious voiced, " What if they both die?"

Neville looked at his cohort and without blinking, " We take over." Both of them turned their gaze to now two surgeons working on Miles to stem the bleeding of Monroe's donated blood from his body.


	2. Chapter 2

The Trenton Campaign Chapter 2

The day passed in victory to the Monroe Militia. They drove the competition from town and those who did not die were conscripted. As the sun began to set, Sebastian watched from a padded chair the prisoners in chains being lead to a hard march back to Ohio where the "training ship" set in Lake Ontario. His face was wan, his eyes sunk into his face. A glass of whiskey twirled slowly in his hand. A nurse tried to get him to rest, explaining during a routine donation the proscribed amount was one pint. They guessed that General Monroe donated far more. In Bass' mind he didn't donate enough. He refused and wanted to see his enemy in person being vanquished.

When he had woke from the operating tent, Miles was gone. He sat up with a start, groping for a weapon, sweat pouring down his face and chest and feeling nauseous. Where was he? He looked around the tent in a panic but his heart calmed when he saw the familiar red cross, saw the bandage on his arm, blood stains on the dirt floor of the tent. Where was Miles? Another wave of terror threatened to engulf him.

A nurse popped her head in. She must have been waiting just outside the tent flap for her leader to awaken from his donation. " Sir. Are you feeling ok?", she asked calmly. Monroe turned to face her as he sat up. The tent swam in front of his eyes and she rushed to catch him before he pitched off backwards.

" I… I think I am going to be sick.", he said and turned his face just in time to vomit.

"It's ok Sir. Blood donation often makes people feel nauseous.", she replied serenely and got a clean towel to wipe his mouth. She poured a cup of water from an old porcelain basin that may have once belonged in an antique shop.

Monroe took the glass from her and sipped. His mind wanted him to jump up and run to find Miles but he reined in his impulse, " Where is General Matheson?", he allowed her to settle him back down on the table instead of risking another vomiting episode.

" He is recovering.", she replied keeping her tone as neutral as she could. Everyone knew how close the two men were and how that friendship would be the Achilles' heel for both.

Bass exhaled loudly, gratefully with a smile and for a split second the nurse saw the man behind the iron mask.

" Please wait here. I'll get Dr. Howard to talk to you. You really should be sent to rest more. You were very heroic, if I may say, Sir.", she complimented. Monroe nodded at her departure and leaned up on his elbow to sip more water and feeling happy to be alive.

Before Howard returned, Baker stepped in to the tent. Monroe regarded him shrewdly. Ever since the day they saved him on the side of the road (Miles idea as he recalled), there was _something_ he didn't like about him. But Matheson wouldn't turn the man away and so they retained him for their new budding army. "Sir?", Captain Baker said.

" Yes?", Monroe sat up slowly and cautiously. He certainly didn't want to vomit in front of Baker.

" The day is ours. Trenton belongs to us.", Baker puffed his chest out some and gave a careful smile.

" Is that true? Good work. What time is it?", Monroe replied secretly hiding his pleasure at that news.

Baker pulled out a pocket watch and flipped the cover open, " Approximately five in the afternoon."

Footsteps approached from the outside and Captain Baker held open the tent flap. Dr. Howard appeared looking cleaner than after the surgery was finished about three hours prior. " General Monroe, how are you feeling?"

" Well enough. How is General Matheson?", he replied and flicked a glance at Captain Baker. Baker showed no knowledge of Miles condition or if he did, he didn't betray it.

Dr. Howard inhaled a deep breath as if he had thought of a diplomatic answer to that very question. " Sir, General Matheson is a very tough man.", he began. Monroe felt his head begin to pound and his vision constrict slightly, " But while he is alive, he is far from out of the woods."

" Is that so. Where is he?", Monroe asked, his voice like a wire pulled too taught.

"He is resting in the main headquarters.", Dr. Howard replied uneasily, " I don't recommend you seeing him at this time in your condition."

"My condition be dammed. I will see him.", Monroe hopped off the table and drew himself up looking for his shirt. His legs became jelly and the world spun.

" Sir, you donated over four pints of blood. Technically you should be dead.", Howard almost barked at him. He used to see the same bravado behavior from gang members he'd patch up only to stagger out into the night to be shot up again and it infuriated him.

Captain Baker stepped in, "Dr. Howard, I think I can escort General Monroe. "

Dr. Howard looked at both men, one sanguine the other full of fire. " Thank you, Captain. If any bleeding happens from that arm, I need to be informed immediately.", Dr. Howard was happy to be rid of Sebastian for a while.

Monroe slipped his shirt on, buttoned the front and took a few shaky steps out the tent into the late afternoon light. The air was quiet for a change. No explosions, no gun fire. He could hear the sounds of conversation, laughter, birds and the breeze in the trees. The air was fresh and not full of smoke and fire. Trenton was his!

Both men moved towards the headquarters building, a larger bungalow style home that was still in relatively good shape. Once, it may have had a small family with a garden in the front yard but the grass was overgrown with weeds, the shrubs in the beds were blighted with neglect and the poor home just looked terribly sad. It had a large family room in the front where any tables or flat surfaces that could be cobbled together sat with piles of hand drawn maps on homemade paper and scraps and bits of old AAA travel books and the few remaining GPS print outs of the greater Trenton area.

Men in control hovered over the papers quietly discussing any hot spots that would require additional patrols that night. Some were conversing about the loss of men and the growing scarcity of bullets. Some even pondered where they could find adequate blades for swords. Then Monroe walked slowly into the room, Captain Baker behind him. Bass wasn't too sure if Baker could or would catch him if he collapsed. He suddenly felt exhausted from a 100-foot walk but he put his best game face on as he faced his men.

"Attention!", someone barked as they caught sight of their leader and those with boots snapped their heels together, every man a salute.

" At ease, gentlemen.", Monroe said leaned on a table pretending to look at the maps while he gathered his strength.

He finally looked up at his officers; " I have been informed that Trenton is now ours after weeks of effort. Very good gentlemen. I congratulate you all.", he paused and noticed that most kept their faces still but a few he could see _the_ question, " I have also been told that General Matheson is recovering." A few men blinked either in surprise or denial. Bad news travels fast in wartime." And we will proceed with our projected march on to Princeton once we regroup and rearm."

Sebastian stood up as straight as he could and looked at his officers. Many he knew from his Marine days, but some were civilians that had demonstrated great ability under adversity, " You are dismissed for the afternoon except for extra patrols during the night. I know some of the vermin escaped. Sargent Strausser, will you please prepare to take our conscripts to Ohio?"

" With great pleasure, General Monroe.", Strausser replied with a wicked smile.

" I will see you first thing tomorrow morning for debriefing.", Bass dismissed them. The men quietly filed out not speaking till they were out of earshot. Sebastian watched them go, wondering if they were taking bets on Miles' life.

" Sir?", it was Nevilles' voice. He had been standing farther back in the shadows of the room and Bass didn't see him at first.

" Yes, Neville?", Monroe said finally choosing a chair to sit in and being grateful for it.

" If I may ask the condition of General Matheson?", he replied.

" You may ask and I will not tell you. You are dismissed. ", Monroe snapped back but then softened, " You did a commendable job with Captain Baker. You will both be rewarded for your efforts."

Neville paused, nonplussed by the snarky tone of his commander, " Thank you, Sir. Good afternoon." He departed the General, leaving him to survey a table of paper. Bass felt so exhausted that all he wanted to do was sleep but he had one more task at hand.

Silence filled the room penetrating every crack and crevice. Monroe lifted his hands to his face and rubbed at his eyes. How had this happened so fast? Five years. Five years of fighting and even though his team was on top, it didn't make him feel any better. When was this going to end, Miles had asked him before they marched from Philadelphia. The Monroe Militia owned the upper and central Midwest but Bass argued they needed the East Coast; they needed New York and the waterways. But at what cost?, Miles had asked. Lately Miles seemed to be growing a conscience and it was beginning to create a rift in what was otherwise a great relationship.

It was always there, Monroe noticed. It started with rescuing Baker and how Miles craved order from the chaos. At first he could and would do anything to ensure rules were followed and the world flowed with stability and harmony. Then came the bandits and smaller militias and the demon in Miles seemed to take a life unto itself. Bass admitted to himself that some of the things that Matheson contrived were amazingly and cruelly effective but he reaped the benefit of his work so why should he stop Miles?

But now the dragon was in his heart and he had it set on the East and then maybe…. Georgia.


	3. Chapter 3

The Trenton Campaign Chapter 3

As Sebastian contemplated his thoughts he could feel Miles' presence in the house. In his mind's eye he saw the back bedroom where his friend lay. He wanted to desperately to see him yet he did not only because of the tortured possibility that he may die. That night in the graveyard presented itself into his consciousness and he tried to repress it. The whisky, the gun, Miles rescuing him from his worst nightmare. Now a new nightmare offered itself to him and all he wanted was to wake up.

Miles lay in the bed, pale and waxy looking. Another nurse had been sitting just inside the room reading a very tattered looking paperback. When she saw him, she got up and left without comment. Monroe was touched that Miles wasn't alone.

Sebastian pulled up the chair the nurse had occupied just moments ago and was happy to be sitting. The lack of sound was a deafening roar. Monroe remembered the days of electricity and hospitals and the noises. The respirators, the beeping heart monitors, the pages of nurses and doctors, the hustle and bustle of medical staff, but none of that was here now. Just Monroe and Miles, like they had always been.

" Hey Miles…." Sebastian started but was cut off by the lump in his throat. In Iraq they had friends die. They saw bodies be torn apart by war, which he still didn't want to remember because good men died in combat. But this was Miles, the man that shared nearly every thing except the same parents. Bass cleared his throat. "Miles. It's Bass. You made it buddy!" he said softly, " You've got half of me flowing in you. We're real brothers now." Sebastian reached out and touched Matheson's hand with that sentiment. It was cool to the touch. Bass didn't like the sensation and pulled back.

Miles lay still, his breathing almost imperceptible. Sebastian felt so helpless. He had ice, he could command the finest food, drinks and women yet he could not save his friend. What he would do for a Marine field medic kit and power.

Power. Electricity. A thought began to gel in his mind. He would find out how to turn the lights on. Then he could have more power than ever! But first he had to win this skirmish.

Sebastian quietly reflected on this afternoon as he sipped his whiskey. The chair was a high back with red velvet upholstery that someone had found in a museum. It has become Sebastian's campaign chair. And tonight it was facing the marching ground of their makeshift headquarters. Strausser was chain ganging the last conscripts together as the remaining rays of the sun slipped past the blighted buildings. Electricity. Power. Yes, when Miles was well, they could continue their quest for the East coast and then direct their attention to power. Rachel Matheson. Ben Matheson. They could be found and enticed to cooperate. Yes, Sebastian mused sipping his whiskey, listening to the whips used on the chain gang to get them moving forward, the pieces of the puzzle were coming together and he and his brother Miles would light the way.

The End?

Coming soon… Miles meets Nora…..


End file.
